Owning My Mistakes
by LoreoftheFaye
Summary: Post Season 7 -  does not follow 8  Rupert is in London trying to reform the Watcher's Council when a blast from his past catches up to him and he's reminded of a mistake he made a long time ago. He wants to but is it too late to fix what is broken?
1. Prologue

- Twenty Four Years Ago –

"The decision of this Council is final."

The board of elder Council members in front of him was drawn out in a line behind a dark wood table, Travers in the middle. A crowd drawn in hushed murmurs behind him, the din of disapproving Watchers. A scream, a high pitched baby's cry or perhaps just the trick of a strained mind.

The disgraced man hung his head before the crowd and tried to console himself that he was doing the right thing. This is what they had decided, together, being mere children. He felt his heart straining in his chest and the weight of guilt for a condemned man pulling him down. He hadn't even the time to look in her direction, to see her one last time, before he was pulled away and out of the room.

Rupert Giles bolted upright in bed, panting, clutching his hand to his heart. His head swam with the images he'd just experienced again, the horror show of his mind's eye. Reliving the memory only caused him pain because he couldn't change the steps of the players in a fantasy that begged for a different ending.


	2. What There Is To Work With

Chapter 1:

Rupert's world was upside down.

Later, when he replayed his last conversation with Buffy while lying in bed after his nightmare he realized just how changed a man he was. They sat opposite each other, waiting for different airplanes in some nondescript California airport. Her hazel eyes were studying the floor and he wished just once they'd lift and meet his own. After all, he told himself, this wasn't goodbye but simply a chance for both of them to spread their wings and deal with their own projects.

"I'll see you, right?" Her voice was quieter than it should have been in a crowded airport and yet he found he could hear her clearly. He was hanging on her every word. Her question was that of a child's wondering, asking when it already knew the answer just to hear the words out loud. He almost laughed in the moment, happy she still retained some innocence from all this horrific mess.

"You'll only be in Venice, Buffy…a short distance away from England. Should you need me I'll be right there."

She looked at him at last, hopefully, and he resisted the urge to hug her. He already cared for her too much, loved her too deeply. It was more than a Watcher should do, caring for the Slayer as a father would. She came to care for him that way, too, despite the many times they'd fought only to come back together again. Some things were simply too strong to fight.

"What if I can't do this? What if the world wasn't meant to have this many Slayers? I'm not sure I'm strong enough."

Ah, there it was…the main confession and why she was acting so puzzling. Even after everything she'd been through she still needed reassurance that she was strong enough to lead. He could understand the need and the fear; he had some of the same reactions about trying to form a new Council. They both knew what they had to do, of course, and he had no doubts about her success.

"In all the years I've known you you've never failed to rise to the occasion. I have every confidence you are strong enough if you'll let yourself be."

They called her plane and she stood. He wrapped her in a hug, holding onto her for a while. And then came the goodbyes to Dawn and the rest of them and once the last body disappeared onto the plane he felt miserably bereft for their absence. Those were his children, the surrogate family he'd found and created on his own. With a heavy sigh he moved to his own gate and waited out the lesson in torture that was the next hour until his flight. From there it wasn't hard to establish himself again in London.

He hadn't been a model Watcher; he wasn't foolish enough to think that. But it was now his aim to create a new breed of Watcher, a new gathering of men and women dedicated to care for and guide those precious women destined to fight back against the forces of darkness. He would do it if such a task could be performed by a mere man. Not all of the Watchers had perished, of course, in Caleb's blast. Some were on assignment and were at other locations. A great many of them, however, had died. This included his father. His mother followed her husband in mere days. Both had gravestones underneath the large oak at their country cottage in Bath.

He'd made too many mistakes in this life.

He now had access to the Council funds. Many of the rarest texts in the world were lost in the blast and some of that information would never be recovered unless, through some miracle, magic could locate the volumes needed and bring them from the past into the present. He didn't hold out much hope for that but made a note to ask Willow when he could. First things first, he needed to find a base of operations and find out who survived and who didn't. That required records and copious amounts of study and research. Thankfully, he was born to a life of both and didn't mind the hard work.

He showered and left his flat in the middle of the city. He'd have retreated to Bath but it was less practical to be there when what remained of the Council was in London. He had inquiries to make today and funds to check on. Long ago he was respected in the Council and was given access to funding in the emergency provisions of the Council holdings. Travers...dead. If there ever was a prat that deserved to be dressed down it was that pompous ass but this? Blown into oblivion wasn't something he had in mind as a fitting end for anyone. Except for the Mayor, obviously, but he was a demon and therefore not subject to the constraints of his mind about decent mortal conduct.

Britain National was a large gray block building in Central London flagged by proper guards and renowned for its upstanding dealings and near infallible security. He could never remember a report of theft from the building and suspected that magic was involved somewhat in that. There was no way to be certain, of course, but when things like this happened in a crime infested time period one tended to look for supernatural explanations instead of the mundane. He supposed it didn't matter as he approached. He was here for one purpose and either way he paused a moment to consider the building before pushing open the tinted glass doors.

The inside of the building was more magnificent than he could have imagined. It was tall in the lobby, two stories worth of room at least with a fresco painted on the ceiling to rival Michelangelo's Sistine creation. He was momentarily lost by the beauty of it, staring up at the heavens in the daylight. He gaped. He ogled. He stared like a starving man to his first meal in days. He realized he must look like a ponce and quickly cleared his throat, surveying the room beyond what the ceiling had to offer. He wasn't sure what to expect or how to identify himself with the existing account and wondered where to begin. Conveniently, a sign in sheet was propped on a podium declaring that anyone with a question should sign in and wait for service.

He sat and then heard his name and came across the waiting area toward a nervous looking gentleman with an obvious toupee, a slight overbite, and a nameplate announcing his name was Nigel Atkinson. He shook Nigel's hand before he took a seat in a cushioned chair in front of a small darkly stained desk. The other man looked well meaning and, well, like every depiction of a British nerd in any satire ever. Giles used to wonder how Englishmen came to be depicted so ridiculously in American cinema. Looking at people like this he began to understand. The bank employee smiled and tapped a few keystrokes into the computer.

"So, how can I help you today, Mr. Giles?"

Rupert cleared his throat again and tried to sound like he had some remote idea of what he was doing. "I'm here to check on the account for the Watcher's Council registered in the last, I believe, to a man called Quentin Travers. Mr. Travers is now deceased and I believe it falls to me to take over where he's left off. I just needed to know what there is to work with."

Nigel seemed somewhat taken aback. "Do you have an account number?"

Rupert responded with a look that plainly asked if he looked like someone that had a bloody account number. That seemed to clear a few things up for the other man and he tapped a few more keystrokes into the computer in front of him. His eyes widened, once, before narrowing and then he typed away furiously at his keyboard looking confused. Not too long after this battle began between Nigel and the keyboard another man in a tie came rushing over to the desk and placed a hand on Nigel's shoulder. He smiled a more genuine smile than Rupert had seen since he entered the building and his coworker stopped and looked up, startled to have been interrupted.

"Mr. Gaines!" he addressed and the man with the smile nodded.

"It's alright, Nigel. I have it from here. This is sort of a special case."

He shook Giles' hand and led him away from the desk and into a private office up a small flight of stairs in the corner of the room. He gestured generously to the plush chairs in front of his desk. It was a fancy thing, carved with an ornate paneling and gilded here and there with gold leaf that contrasted sharply with the dark stain of the wood. Mr. Gaines indicated the silver tray stocked with a clear decanter with a diamond relief pattern on the outside of it. An amber liquid was encased inside with crystal glasses on either side.

"Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Giles? The Salut Scotch is excellent and aged twenty years."

The Watcher shook his head and all at once the man before him, Bart Gaines, became all business sitting down and offering a few keystrokes of his own. "You see, Mr. Giles, this is a very special case to Britain National Bank. The Watcher's Council has kept funds with the establishment ever since its inception. You'll understand when I tell you we can't simply hand over the information of the account and its funds to just anyone on their word alone."

He'd expected that much and nodded, understanding completely. "Well, I'm sure you heard of the bombing that took place close by several months ago by now. I'm sure it was put off as a gas leak or some such ghastly nonsense but men like you and I both know that the publicized story isn't often the true version of things."

"Quite so." the other responded. "Well said."

"What's needful, then? I brought along several pieces of identification..."

He was cut off before he could finish his sentence by a raised hand. "If it were that simple, Mr. Giles, we would not be the institution we're famed for being. Your identification will be here momentarily. Please, do try to relax until then. This is painless, or, relatively so."

"What are you talking about?" the other man demanded, beginning to get nervous. Then the door of the office opened and an efficient looking woman entered in a smart skirt suit and a smirk on her lips. She closed the door behind her and pulled the shades. Rupert began to get very nervous. Something about this didn't look good. The woman seemed to ignore him completely as she made her way to what he assumed was the bank manager's side.

"I'm needed, sir?" she asked softly and Mr. Gaines smiled.

"Felicia, my dear, this man claims he's authorized on the Watcher's account. I need him verified for that."

Felicia shrugged and studied Rupert's face a moment. "He certainly looks like one of them. The headquarters building exploded two months ago and took with it all major signatories on the account. If Mr. Giles passes verification he should be granted access according to the provisions of the emergency conduct."

The Watcher felt pleased. At least someone understood that he belonged here but what was all this talk about verification? How did one prove one was a Watcher to those not in the profession? That's when the blond came closer and without warning placed her hand on his forehead. Immediately pain exploded behind the Watcher's eyes and he pitched forward, groaning in protest. The hand didn't' depart but the longer whatever was happening went on he found the pain lessened. His mind felt clouded and his body felt like it was slugging through a dense marsh of mud without getting much of anywhere. When the hand let go he fell back, exhaling a breath he had no idea he'd been holding. The blond Felicia shrugged and moved back to Gaines' side.

"He's one of them alright. A hero Slayer and still alive. Though, to be fair, she's died twice."

Giles blinked. She was a blunt creature, wasn't she? It occurred to the man that his mind had just been violated but soon enough the bank manager was tapping more keys and looking at the information on the screen. He was satisfied by the results of the verification process, at any rate. When he looked up again he seemed just a little less confident than he had before.

"Well, Mr. Giles, we can add you as a main signatory on the accounts."

"Pardon me, accounts?"

"Oh!" Mr. Gaines paused. "Weren't you aware the main account was supplemented by others?"

"No."

"Well, yes. The main account is supplemented by monthly draws from at least three other holdings. One is in the name of an antiquities firm, another in the name of a consulting agency and the last is a dummy corporation."

"Oh! I suppose you'll have records I can take a look at."

"Of course, Mr. Giles. Of course. You'll also be given access to the safe deposit box downstairs. I believe there were mostly records in there as well."

Rupert nodded. "Very good, thank you." he paused. "So…exactly how much do I have to work with to rebuild the Council?"

The other man consulted his screen before giving an answer. "If you liquidated the accounts right now you'd have somewhere in the ballpark of two billion."

"I _beg_ your pardon? Two billion?"

"The antiquities corporate account alone has over a billion."

"Good Lord!" Had he ever worried about funding before? This was more than he could ever dream of. "How much is in the main account right now?"

"For walking around money you have about a quarter billion in the main reserve."

"Good Lord."

He sat dumbly for a little while, staring at the bank manager as if the whole conversation were taking place in his head. Overcome, he finally answered weakly. "You mentioned records?"

"Ah, yes, the safe deposit box! In a moment, Mr. Giles. We'll have to complete the paperwork to make you the main executor of the account. There is one other person on the account already in a strict accounting capacity." He consulted his information with a few clicks and a key stroke. "Ah! Yes! Here it is! A Miss Liliana Barrows."

Rupert paled. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

The other looked startled but Felicia piped up in her own no nonsense voice. "Liliana Barrows. She came in a week ago to see if anyone had come in to claim the account. I suppose she was waiting for the next main account holder to come forward. Speaking of, must call her."

"Oh, no! It's quite alright. If she left a number I can ring her. I don't mind. It might be easier to speak to her about this first so I can answer any questions she may have."

He hoped he was playing it cooler than he felt. His hand almost shook at the mention of her. It was so long ago, buried in his past. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting but to find her now…alive…by a simple coincidence. Felicia didn't appear fooled by his performance. She slipped her hands to her hips and studied him. The man gulped under such scrutiny.

"This is all very personal for you, isn't it?" she demanded. "I've seen your past, Mr. Giles, and perhaps she doesn't want to hear from you."

"Doesn't…" such a thought had never occurred to him before. At least, not within the last five minutes. With no Council to keep them apart he'd indulged in a moment of stunning glorious hope before she crushed it like a bug beneath her heel. Once the balloon was deflated thoughts of self doubt crept in and settled into his mind and he began to wonder if it was true. Whether she wouldn't want to hear from him. Just the same a slip of paper floated down in front of his eyes to land in his lap. Her phone number was written in neat script.

"Have at it." Felicia encouraged. "See for yourself."

He cringed. "Thank you." he returned politely. He was a gentlemen no matter the circumstances involved. He slipped the paper back into his pocket he turned his attention back to the bank manager. "She can stay on the account. What paperwork do I need to fill out?"

Mr. Gaines nodded and slid across the table a scroll of parchment marked in the old way. Rupert stared at it, uncomprehending. "What's this?"

"The agreement."

"Surely you're joking. This isn't an archaic institution. There are other forms to be had, I'm sure."

"Not for this account, Mr. Giles. For these holdings your signature must be on a binding contract in blood."

Giles wasn't the squeamish sort but all the same he was wary of signing anything in blood. Corporations like Wolfram and Hart leapt to mind and he'd be damned, perhaps quite literally, if he signed anything with his own blood without reading it first. He scanned the document and saw nothing to jump out at him as a sense of danger. Travers signed it, after all, and Watchers before him. He took hold of the letter opener on the desk and pushed it into his thumb. Blood welled up and he pressed the print to the bottom of the page. Mr. Gaines seemed to approve. Felicia straightened her glasses.

"Come with me, Mr. Giles."

She lead him out of the office and the Watcher felt like he should have taken the manager up on his offer of a drink. Too late now as he was taken past steel gates into the back of the bank and down a hall. Felicia showed him to an empty room with a small table, some chairs, and a promise to return with the deposit box. Rupert spent a few useless minutes puzzling over what he'd learned while waiting for the manager's assistant to return. When she did it was with a metal box longer and larger than he expected. This was supported by two security guards. They set the box on the table and left leaving only the blond behind. She looked at him fixing her skirt.

"Is there anything else I can do to be of some use to you, Mr. Giles?"

"As a matter of fact might I have a writing tablet and a pen? Who knows what sort of information I'll come across?"

She nodded. "When you're finished in here with the box simply alert the guard outside of the door. Here's a pass key. If you ever want access to this vault again simply show it to a guard. They'll help you."

He took the electronic looking card and nodded. A short while later he was immersed in his business scrawling furiously across the tablet. His hand throbbed when he was finished and he'd gone through an entire pen's worth of ink and two full legal tablets of paper. He opened the door and signaled the guard who nodded and put away the box before showing the man out of the building. He was surprised to find it was dark and the bank was deserted. The room he was in had no clock or windows.

"Did you stay just for me?" he asked softly. The guard gave a curt nod. The Watcher felt sheepish carrying his new information in his hands. "I apologize. I had no idea so much time had passed."

The man beside him didn't give an answer but simply unlocked the front doors and let him out onto the street. By the time the tired man got home he was surprised to find it was close to ten o'clock. He stumbled to bed after a cup of tea and lay in the darkness a while thinking. He was beyond tired but found his mind too restless to let him relax. He thought about his parents and what it meant for them to be out of his life and thought of Liliana, tossing around in his head the idea of ringing her. The urge to run to the country cottage became a much stronger compulsion.

Cottage here simply meant "in the country" for the house couldn't be classified a mere cottage by the look and size of it. It was more like a stately manor hidden away in the middle of no where with stables and pastures and acres of woodlands. He used to cherish summers in the country as a boy and then later when ensconced in studies at Cambridge and the Watcher's Academy. His first thought had been to run there when the world changed, retreating to a time and place when he could remember being content and safe. He couldn't do that. He was needed here. Besides, the grounds now contained the remains of both of his parents and he wasn't sure how to face the finality of that just yet.

Eventually he fell asleep and thought about it no more.


	3. Serendipity and Strife

Chapter 2:

The morning dawned clear and bright. On a rare sunny day in London he could see people taking advantage of the circumstances. He would have been happy to join them but had the tiresome task of trying to find the members of the Council that didn't die in the blast. From the list he'd gathered the night before it would be a relatively simple task of comparing the roster of the Council with the list of the dead. It was a grim prospect, to be sure, but one that had to be done. He would just have to suck it up and have done with it properly.

Then there was Liliana. Would she remember him? How would she remember him after all this time? He'd meant to call her many times after the explosion, he was almost sure of it, but never found the time or perhaps the courage to pick up the phone. Now he had her number sitting reverently next to his bed and he found he hadn't the courage to dial the numbers. He could easily get her address if he had to but how could he face her in person if his hesitation didn't let him pick up the phone?

Stiff upper lip, Rupert.

That's what his father would have said to him were he here and aware of the predicament. His father was as famous for giving his stiff upper lip speech as Giles was for giving his speech on the duties of a Slayer. For all the ways they were different sometimes he and his father were just alike. Following his father's posthumous advice he picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the number before his strength could fail him. After two rings someone answered – a male someone.

_Oh, bollocks!_

Of course she'd be married by now. It's been twenty five years. Still, he couldn't just hang up the phone like a prat. He had to say something now as the voice on the other line repeated their greeting in a less confident manner, as if doubting the call's legitimacy. Taking a deep breath the elder Watcher responded.

"Yes, I'm looking for Liliana Barrows if she's available."

"She's not here. Can I take a message?"

At least they didn't correct her last name. Curious, that. He shook his head to the question though the voice on the other end of the line couldn't see it. He cleared his throat instead.

"No, there's no message. I'll try and ring her again later on. Do you know when I might catch her?"

"I'm not sure. She's running errands."

Right. "Thank you. Goodbye."

He hung up the phone and moved to start his day. At least from here it was all uphill. Even the idea of researching the names of the dead in the Council explosion sounded like a step up from his colossal stupidity. He stepped into the shower and let the water stream on him full blast, scrubbing away his doubt and the memories. It wasn't surprising then that he didn't hear the doorbell ringing. By the time he did he scrambled to get out and almost tripped over himself, throwing his robe around him body and a towel around his shoulders. It was only ten am he noticed and wondered who it could possibly be at his doorstep.

He pulled open the door without a thought, a polite apology on his lips for whoever had kindly waited for him to answer when he stopped short. His heart dropped from its place in his chest down to his feet and for a minute he could only stare dumbly at the figure in the hallway. He felt ridiculous dripping on his carpet in his robe fresh from the shower. Was there no end to his embarrassment?

"Lilla."

She was radiant. Even aged another twenty five years from when he last saw her she was just as vibrant and beautiful as she had been in their youth. Her hair was still the same chocolate brown color and she still kept it long though not to her waist as it used to be. Now it was just past her shoulders and curled slightly. If there were gray strands among the brown he was oblivious. Her eyes were still the same bright blue color like deep water in the sunlight. If there were wrinkles forming around the corners of her eyes he couldn't see them. She looked exactly the way she did when he first saw her face.

It's what drew him to her in the first place, that fire he saw in her eyes and the plain eagerness she had inside of her to be part of something he'd balked at for so long. Where he rejected his calling and ran from it she'd embraced the life with open arms. Being around her helped ease him into the transition when he was still unsure of the choices that had to be made. He'd been only twenty four when they met and still new to the Watcher's Academy. She was nineteen and studying for a first at Cambridge before joining the Academy herself. She was a brilliant mind and looked at him now with the same quiet appraisal she had at their first meeting.

"I thought you'd forgotten that name." she responded, coming in as if she knew he'd offer an invitation if he had the presence of mind to make it. "It's been a long time, Rupert."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, feeling sheepish and remembering the state of his dress or the lack thereof. With a start of surprise he excused himself politely, scurrying into his bedroom to dress in something more appropriate and comb his hair in some passable way. Only a short time later he emerged to find she hadn't left the spot he left her in. Crossing the room he gestured toward the chairs and sofa for a place to sit. "I'm sorry, do come in and have a seat."

She declined politely, looking vaguely uncomfortable. He continued, pressing on. "Would you like some tea, then? I have some Bovril, if you prefer. I seem to recall it being your favorite."

"I would, Rupert, but that's not why I'm here." She sounded a little pained, as if under some stress he couldn't see. He paused, softened, tried to understand. This was a shock for them both. She pulled herself upright, squaring her shoulders as if becoming resolute. She looked at him but her eyes told him that she was still apprehensive.

"Well, I'm having a seat and you're welcome to join me. Why are you here?" he asked kindly, offering her an easy way out of her obvious discomfort. This time she took it, collecting herself to sit opposite him in one of the armchairs. When she crossed her legs he saw a flash of her thigh and that brought back flashes of their time together and memories of his hands running up and down those creamy white expanses of skin. He closed his eyes and cleared his throat, waiting on her reply and pushing away his more devious thoughts.

"Felicia called me this morning. She said the account had been claimed. You can imagine my surprise when she told me who it was that claimed it."

"I meant to call you. I did, in fact, call this morning but you weren't home."

"Yes. You must have spoken to Alistair."

"Your husband?"

"No." She looked pained again, her eyes traveling up to his. "Your son, Rupert."

"My..." He trailed off, unable to think of a single thing to say. It was one thing to know of a child but he always thought of it as just that, not the grown man's voice he heard. "I never knew what it was or what you called it."

"Them." she corrected softly. "I had twins, Rupert, boys. Alistair and Roland."

"Twins?" He felt faint for a moment. The information didn't come and settle like a good thought should. It raced around his brain and refused to be processed on a rational level. "I meant to call..."

"Don't, Rupert. Please don't. Not right now, anyway. You have no idea how hard it was on them. They're both grown and I don't want to go upsetting their lives with a father that never existed." She looked upset when she spoke as if an old wound had just broken open again.

"They don't know anything about me?"

"They have my last name if that's what you're asking. When they asked about their father I told them he was a man that I loved very much but in life there are simply some things one cannot have. For years they begged me to tell them the story of how we met. It was their favorite nursery story as children. I never told them how we parted. It was too painful for us all. Better they remember how we met and when we loved more than what happened afterward."

Giles thought he wanted to go back to facing an Apocalypse, thank you very much. Anything would feel better than turning round to find you're nothing more than a passing chapter in the lives of people he should have been there for. He couldn't help but feel more than a little disappointed that he was a mere footnote in the lives of his twin sons. The only children he would ever have in his life by blood and they barely knew he existed. It was enough to make him feel he should have changed history somehow, made more of an effort. He wanted to ask how things had ended but knew very well that story. He dreamed it more than one night since.

He couldn't think of anything to say, lost in his own thoughts for the moment. Liliana noticed this and got his attention with a small sound. She tried to smile but this wasn't easy for either of them, she could tell. He looked much like the young man she'd fallen in love with years go. Though she was trying to keep her distance now, to keep things simple, it was a hardship on both of them. Old scars still appeared on their skin. You couldn't bury them deep enough.

"I didn't come to upset you, Rupert. The past is just that. I came because I was allowed a position in the Council working with their antiquities house and I dealt extensively with the financials for the institution as a whole. I can be an asset to you if you'll let me. I want to build the Council up again if you have a mind to do it. The Slayers must be guided and protected for the good of the world."

Apparently he didn't have to tell her what happened and how they changed the world. She seemed to know already. Apparently, too, Travers had forgiven them both in his own way and allowed her into the Council even if it wasn't as a Watcher. He did the math in his head and realized his boys would be twenty four, or almost twenty five by now. Almost the same age as Buffy was. He felt miserably bereft again and wondered just what the hell he'd done with his life. Thwarting Apocalypse and battling the First seemed to pale in comparison to the potential life he'd imagined too many times to count. On nights when he was buried in up to his nose by the written word he'd close his eyes and for a few moments imagine a life outside of danger with a picket fence and possibly a puppy. Those thoughts made him smile – the promise of a new day. Faced with the life he might have had embodied in a woman he wished he'd been able to keep longer there was utter chaos in his head and his heart.

He'd done his duty, hadn't he? They made the decision together as rash and ill advised as it had been. How could he have known how it would feel to see her again, to smell the apple scent of her perfume? It didn't change after all these years and having the sweet scent wafting to him made him dizzy with remembering. Instead of saying any of these things he was feeling he found other words tumbling from his lips in phrases that sounded awkward to his ears. Or maybe that was just the feeling of surrealism surrounding him.

"I'd appreciate the help."

She nodded, looking awkward. How was he supposed to handle seeing her again let alone working with her closely in order to reestablish the Council? He could barely form a coherent thought in her presence and was sitting here with his mind running a mile a minute without any single rational thought to be had. He felt like a machine running on autopilot responses for all the control he seemed to have over himself but really, what would he do if he had the chance? Beg for forgiveness? He couldn't hop into a time machine and take back what happened. He couldn't change anything.

For her part Liliana was content to allow him the time to cycle through his endless circular thoughts and didn't interrupt him. These feelings were necessary. She'd experienced the same thing when she heard he was alive and back in England and had been through them again standing outside of his door debating on whether she had courage enough just to knock. She was just as quietly accepting as she'd always been and even more patient if that was possible. He'd read somewhere that being a parent did that to a person but he'd never had a chance to know. He looked at her.

"How shall we go about this, then?"

"You have my phone number. If there's anything you need to know then give me a ring and we'll discuss it. Meanwhile I can keep the corporations going to keep generating income."

"Will we never talk about it, then?"

"I can't talk about this with you today. After years of dreaming of seeing you again I've only been here ten minutes. Give me time. You have no idea how I waited for you, Rupert, and what it was like wishing you were there. It took a great deal of strength to put the past where it belonged. Now, there's nothing to be said. What's done is done. I'd spare our boys any pain in the world if I could. I just don't know how they'd take it. They idolize you because of the stories I've told of when were together. To find out you're only a man…"

"They can decide what fairy tales to believe. They're grown men. They must know a man can only be a man even if he's simply in their mind's eye."

"You don't understand. They only stopped asking about you three years ago. When they both turned twenty one and faced finishing university and really becoming men, trying to decide what to do with their lives, they asked incessant questions about you. Most of them I couldn't answer. It was such a short time we had, Rupert, and for all my work in the Council they never told me how you were or where. I didn't receive any reports. When they realized there was nothing I could tell them to help them understand their father any better they gave up. It's like part of them just…" she sighed, looking away. It was a mother's pain to see her children hurt when she can't stop it. "Shortly after Roland demanded to be called Roddy and started getting into his rebellion, much like you did. Alistair took it all in but he doesn't talk about you anymore. I don't know if you're still on a pedestal or you're just a ghost."

"That's all the more reason to introduce myself, to answer their questions once and for all. I don't want to throw their lives into chaos but I deserve the chance to meet my sons and see what comes of this."

"It's for me, too, you know. Do you have any idea how deep these wounds run?"

He looked down, frowning. "Yes, I very well may."

"Then you must know how it feels to open them. Nothing needs to be rushed into. The Council can come first, can't it? Twenty five years…a few more days won't hurt. Think on it, won't you?"

It wasn't fair but he thought it hadn't been fair for her to raise them on her own all this time. "You never married?"

"How could I?" she asked, helplessly, as if he should know the reason for it. He didn't.

"I'll think about it, Lilla, but I won't forget. I want to meet them but I'll think on what's best for us all before I go making demands."

"It's all I ask. For now let's focus on the Council, please." The Council was far less complicated and potentially painful and was therefore more inviting in the woman's mind.

Money wasn't the issue in his mind anymore. He was already making a list of the things he'd have to do to begin this crazy mission of his. The first thing seemed to be to recreate the old Council headquarters built from scratch again according the city record blueprints. He shook his head; things set in his mind much to her insistence. There was nothing more to be said and he was feeling rather useless with all of these things inside of him that he was holding back with the willpower of a titan.

"Well, if that's the arrangement then, is there anything else I can do for you?"

She looked at him, momentarily stunned by his reaction. She looked like she wanted to say something and then stopped. Finally she responded in a voice somewhat weaker than he'd ever heard from her lips. "No. There's nothing. I'll show myself out."

"There's no need for that. I'm still a gentleman." He walked her to the door and opened it for her. She paused halfway through and looked at him one last time before she left.

"They look like you, you know. Alistair has your eyes and your smile and Roland has your strength and your charm. They're both just as smart as you are."

She ducked through the door without saying more and he reached out to stop her two seconds too late. She was already gone, walking down the hallway toward the elevators and he didn't allow himself to go after her. Instead he forced himself to shut the door and leaned heavily on it, only then allowing himself to give into the trembling that had threatened his body the entire time she was in his presence. He didn't remember that cold, that brutal efficiency, in her demeanor before but given their history he could hardly blame her for it. He still saw glimpses of her underneath and the pain this caused her. She was being guarded because she had to be. They both had to be.

The important thing was she was alive and his children – his _children_ – were alive and grown men. Why hadn't he tried harder to find her when she disappeared? Why hadn't he written longer or tried to phone more often? When Travers closed the door why hadn't he sought the window?

Because he'd been scared and still a child in many ways, that's why. She knew just as well as he did but she was younger than he at the time. She was the true child, only nineteen years old to his twenty four and somehow she raised them on her own. He slammed the side of his fist onto his door and the resounding sound echoed in his head. He forced himself to back away. The world wouldn't stop spinning because she'd walked back into his life. The world was still busily slipping away from his fingertips while he paced back and forth in nervous activity inside. This uselessness wasn't a benefit to anyone. As she said: he had her number and could call when he needed help with anything. She gave him room to make his own decision and make it he would, in time. For now she was a resource and he needed to put himself in that mindset before this entire train succeeded in derailing the tracks.

There was still a lot of work to be done.


	4. Thinking Man's Beer

Chapter 3:

Days passed. The construction was well underway and Giles went to the construction site many times to make sure things were progressing as they should and the building was taking shape as it used to look. He was nearly driving the foreman batty with his incessant questioning. At this stage the building was only a frame and barely that. It was impossible for the man to know exactly what the building's shape would be on the inside. He gave very detailed plans to the foreman, demanding that everything be exactly as it was in his very polite manner until the other man responded less politely, asking Giles to leave and let him get back to work.

He hadn't heard from Liliana since she left his flat and didn't dare call her. He tried to invent a reason but they all sounded flimsy and, well, as flat as they were. It was only an excuse to talk to her again, to try and ration out how it came to this. He still wasn't sure if he wanted to be in their lives because of a selfish desire to know them or because he wanted to be a benefit to them? Would it benefit them to have the father they never knew suddenly appear when they were already men grown? They were as old now as he had been when they were conceived. He hadn't yet made a decision.

He knew all this very well but he needed and ear to listen to him, someone who wouldn't judge so he did the only thing he knew to do when he needed an ear to hear. He drove the short distance to his favorite pub and took a seat on a bar stool in the darkened corner of the establishment. This was unofficially his seat, claimed whenever he came into town. The bartender made sure to make this clear when he came in and it was occupied.

"Oi! Liam! Pint of a good lager and keep it coming."

"Thinking man's beer. Bad day, Rupert?"

"You could say that."

The bartender was a man with salt and pepper hair though he was in his sixties at least. They were passingly familiar with each other. Liam with Rupert's career path and on the job woes (and lack of a social life though he never mentioned that) and Rupert with Liam's two kids and an ex-wife that likes to bleed him dry when she thinks she can get away with it. He was one of the few that hadn't questioned Giles' job description when he let it spill in a drunken haze. Ever since then he found Liam to be a sound and sympathetic ear. He'd have preferred his father but short of driving to Bath and speaking to the man's bones that wasn't going to happen.

"Wanna speak on it, Rupert?"

"Oh, I've mucked things up as I usually do." He breezed, taking a healthy swig off his pint. He sounded a damn sight more casual than he felt but sighed before too long. "Did you know I have children, Liam?"

The bartender stopped and stared, surprised. In all the time he'd known his patron he'd never heard tale of children or a girlfriend. It seemed the man would ever be full of surprises. He took his towel and flipped it over his shoulder, staring honestly at the Watcher.

"No. Can't say I did."

"Neither did I. Ah…what I mean to say is that I didn't know I had twins and I've never met them."

"That doesn't sound t'all like you."

"It wouldn't have been if circumstances were otherwise. I regret my folly, Liam. I let her down. I let the lot of them down. I feel like I'm a ruddy failure."

"Hold on there, Rupert." He slid the man a shot of Scotch which the other took gratefully. He'd seen the Watcher in all sorts of states over the years but never this out and out depressed before. Whatever it was he thought he'd done it must be pretty bad to work him up so sorely. "Can't be bad as all that. I've never even heard you mention a girl before."

"No wonder there." The younger Brit replied, slinging back his shot with the ease of experience. He didn't even make a face as the liquor burned its way down to his belly and warmed him from the inside out. Liam sensed this was important and did something he'd never done for another patron in his life. He went and kicked the other drinkers from the bar and closed the door behind them, locking it when he did. He flipped the sign to closed and came over to sit on the stool beside Rupert like a proper friend. "Alright then, go on." He urged. Rupert saluted him with his half full pint and gulped down the rest of the brown liquid before he took a breath and continued.

"Her name is Liliana but I called her Lilla when we met. We were both children and I didn't have an idea in my head of what it was to be a man."

The older man nodded, sipping at his own pint of lager with the leisure of an observer, being outside of the crisis. This was all very personal and very new to his understanding of a man he'd been speaking to and serving for the past twenty years, at least. He cared about the guy at the very least and to be honest, the idea of him having a social life was just a little bit like him sharing a secret since Liam had never once heard mention of anything outside of work. Looking at the sad look in the jade eyes of his companion he knew the pain of this ran deep. "Go on."

"The moment I saw her, Liam, I was drawn to her. Something about her fire and her passion just drew me in like a moth and I couldn't help but be lost in it. Before then I'd been a bit of a rebellious little prick but with her? I wanted to be better. Stupid, right? We only spent about two months in each other's company. She comes from a long line of Watchers like I do. Longer, even, than my own heritage. She loved the idea of what she'd become. It was the only thing she wanted – to follow in her mother's footsteps and the mother before her. We were so completely different."

His head drooped and he stared into his empty glass, sweeping the cup around in his hand to watch the remnants of his drink swish around in circles. He was staring at her in his mind's eye, mulling over their very brief courtship. The movements of his hands were completely unnecessary, something to simply keep them occupied. Liam was patient and let him work through this until he was ready to speak again. He imagined the situation, recalling brief romances of his own youth and how exciting they were. Somehow he didn't imagine this as a brief fling.

"Being with her is impossible to describe. We spent hours chatting at the club or alone in my flat. We literally tumbled into bed as if we simply couldn't help ourselves. She must've gotten pregnant almost immediately. A month later she told me and all hell broke loose."

The bartender reached over and grabbed up the bottle of scotch, pouring him a new shot. He imagined he knew where this was going considering previous knowledge but didn't interrupt. He quietly tended, as was his job.

"The Council had a fit, if you can imagine." Indeed, Liam could. Rupert spent a good long time talking about the Council and their rules and what happened if you crossed them. "There's a rule I learned of only that day involving the Council and small children. Apparently you're not allowed to be a Watcher with even a potential Slayer if you have small children. Pregnant women aren't admitted into the Academy. When the Council found out, and they did, they put me to trial for taking advantage of her and forced us to choose between keeping up our family traditions as potential Watchers and choosing to leave it behind to care for the child."

His tone now was terrible, wavering as he spoke. It was the first time he'd told anyone aloud. It was one thing to witness what happened from the sidelines and quite another to hear his side of it. He'd been a young man fresh from his flirtation with the dark side and panicked. They talked long hours, both of them, now with a different purpose in mind. The decision laid before them was difficult, both afraid and heartsick. Giles could see the shame this would bring to his family: father and grandmother both well respected among the Council. Liliana only saw her inability to follow in her dead mother's footsteps. In the end, though, she conceded to forgo her dream so he could keep his own. She gave up being a Watcher to raise their children.

"She chose…to let me keep my family pride and opted to raise the child herself. The Council gave her a generous stipend to do this. As part of the agreement I was barred contact from her and never knew what happened. I should have tried harder to reach her! I should never have let them dictate my life!"

He slammed the glass down, the thick bottom making an impressive sound in the silence. Liam watched his reaction, wide eyed, and said nothing. That was a horrible thing to go through. "How old were you?" he asked softly at long last.

"Twenty four. She was only nineteen."

The bartender shook his head. "That's a damn shame. What brought this bubbling up again? How did you find out she had twins?"

"The Council is no more, as you might imagine after the explosion. I'm trying to build it up again." He realized how much he hadn't been able to explain to Liam since his return to London. "She found me. Through circumstance we're both striving toward the same goal. She showed up at my flat yesterday and it didn't…she was cold. I heard pain her voice and saw it in her eyes but she was keeping her wall up. I'd never seen that wall before. We didn't talk much about the past but she did tell me I have two twin sons, Alistair and Roland. They grew up knowing very little about me and why should they? I've never been here for them! I'm sure I faded to being a dream to Liliana, too, after a while. I was always off doing something else and created another family without as much as a thought to them."

"I don't believe you never thought of them, Rupert." The other answered kindly. Irrationality in inebriation was something he heard quite often.

"No. You're right. I thought about them more than I let on when I had a spare moment to think of something. I never imagined twins, though. I wrote her for years before I finally gave up. In the years that followed I started so many letters but by the time I had the courage to send them again it had been too long. I couldn't disrupt her life. And, anyway, she doesn't want to bring up the past with me. I'd be a fool to try and make up for this lost time. The children are fully grown, twenty five soon enough if my math is right."

"That's rough, mate. Whatcha gonna do?"

"I don't know. For a beginning drinking myself into a stupor seemed like a good idea. I keep trying to invent reasons to ring her but in the end I just can't. I don't know why. I'm worried I want to put myself in their lives for my own selfish reasons. I can't decide if it's their best interests I have in mind. I promised to think about it but I'm wondering if I should just let her get on and forget about this."

"Now see here!" Liam burst out, demanding his patron's attention. "This is nothing like you, Rupert. You made a mistake and you're living it and no one can ask more of a bloke. If you want to know them you should ask. No harm ever came of asking."

"Perhaps you're right, Liam. Those are my children and I want to meet them at the very least. Let them make their own decisions about me. They are adults, after all, and capable of thinking for themselves. They deserve the chance to be angry or accepting of me just as she does."

"There you are! Good on ya."

Rupert rose from his bar stool, wobbling a little as he did and paid Liam for the drinks and tipped him well for the ear and the advice. The bartender simply walked him to the door and switched the sign to open again, unlocking his pub. The Watcher simply slipped out into the city, sight unseen, and walked back to his flat. It wasn't very late, perhaps ten o'clock, but the first thing he did was pick up the phone and punch in the numbers before he could lose his nerve. The phone was answered after just two rings and the voice sounded similar to the one before but had a rougher quality to it, like his own when he was younger.

"Hello?"

"Hello. This is Rupert Giles calling for your mum. This is Roland isn't it?" he chanced a guess. A long pause.

"Roddy. The name's Roddy. No one calls me Roland." His voice dripped with disdain. Another shorter pause. "Who're you?"

"I'm…" he wasn't sure how to answer and was torn between the truth or a simpler lie. "I'm trying to reform the Council and she's helping me out. May I speak to her?"

"Sure. Hang on." The phone was muffled with a hand but there was a loud "Mum! Phone!" that couldn't be stifled by his hand. Then the phone was plunked onto a table, audibly, and Liliana picked it up a few moments later. She immediately shot off an apology for her son's phone manners. Roddy apparently also got Rupert's rebellion gene.

"Quite alright, Lilla." He responded smoothly, sounding much less nervous than he felt. Butterflies all but wrestled in his stomach speaking to her and he felt like any moment he'd become as tongue tied as a school boy. Ah, well, courage old man. Get to the point if you're not sure you can manage it. "I needed to speak with you."

"We are speaking."

"Uh, I hadn't meant, specifically, over the phone."

"Whatever do you want to talk about that it has to be in person?" she sounded confused.

"Please, Lilla, come round tomorrow."

She sighed softly. "Didn't I tell you there's nothing to say?"

"You told me to think about it and I have. I just wanted to talk to you about some things first. I don't know if there's anything to say but there might be. Anyway, I owe it to you and the boys and to myself to see."

She sighed and he could see her closing her green eyes and nibbling her lower lip as she did when she was nervous. "Tomorrow, then."

"Brilliant!" He stopped, quieted, but the smile didn't leave his lips. "Meet me at my flat tomorrow. Let's say around noon?"

"Alright, Rupert."

He hung up the phone and let out a long shuddering breath. If there was a way to fix this situation, he would. He was practically dancing as he changed for bed and steeped a cup of tea. He picked up a book from the shelf, his favorite, The Legend of Camelot, and put it on the table beside his favorite chair.. Tonight he felt like dwelling in the realm of a Utopia. Perhaps not in reality but certainly in idea and he could take it for what it was supposed to be as opposed to what it turned into.


	5. The Elephant in the Room

Chapter 4:

As he paced the living room for the hundredth time he was absolutely certain noon would never come, had no intention of coming, and had never been before. The pot of Bovril tea sat untouched on his coffee table with two delicate teacups sitting beside it. He thought he remembered how she took her tea though he wasn't much of one to serve it back in the day – at least not formally. At last he heard the telltale tap at the door and rushed to open it feeling downright giddy. She offered him a small smile in return for his, shyly coming in to the room after his invitation.

"I've made tea. I seem to recall sugar and very little cream."

"That's right. I'm surprised you remember."

"I didn't but it's coming back to me. I've spent a great deal of time thinking these last few days I can tell you. About the boys and about you and about the decisions we made as children – the best we could do considering the circumstances."

She nodded, looking more composed and relaxed this time than she had been previous. The pain was still there but with it determination. She took the cup and thanked him, taking a seat across from him again. The sunlight from the windows caught her face and lit it up. He looked and had to pause, watching, likening the sight to a boy seeing his Christmas tree light up for the first time. He stared dumbly until she caught him and he had to look away with an embarrassed laugh. He poured his own tea and took a sip.

"You are still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Lilla. I can't believe how time hasn't touched you."

She laughed, waving a hand to push away his silly comments. "It has, believe me. Every morning I find I recognize myself less and less than the day before."

"Why did you never marry?" he asked softly, jade eyes staring still. She blushed.

"At first I was too busy to look for a man. And then I assumed no one would have with both of the boys to raise but when I saw you again I knew those reasons were rubbish. I never married because there was no other you out there to be had." She wasn't looking at him as she spoke and for good reason. She wasn't sure how she felt being this vulnerably honest with him yet. "Why haven't you married?"

He smiled, letting out a short breath. Turn about was fair play. "I was busy with Buffy, mostly. I fell in love once, just after I came to America. Jenny…she was killed by Angelus. After that happened I realized women in my life just weren't meant to be. The two women I managed to fall for both ended up a world away by circumstance." He didn't mention his occasional dalliances, though only a few of them were him in control of himself. She was sure she had her own. Liliana remained quiet and took a sip of her tea. She didn't begrudge him his love even if she hadn't managed one of her own.

"What have you decided?"

"I want to meet them." He returned sincerely. "I owe it to them and to myself to see if there's something there I can salvage. I keep imagining them and I could not live knowing I came this close just to give them up again."

"If you're determined, Rupert, I won't stop you."

"I don't want to hurt them. Or you. The last thing in this world I want to do is put you through anymore pain than you've already been through."

He rose from his chair, cup abandoned, and moved to take her hand. She pulled away from him almost immediately and they both somehow managed to look stung but for wholly different reasons. She darted over to the right, keeping her eyes on him. She was resigned to talk but with him close like that…it wasn't the same. She couldn't handle it. He looked stricken, wondering if he'd done something wrong only trying to comfort her.

"Liliana, I…I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"No! I know. I'm just not. I can't. Your touch."

"What about my touch, Lilla?" he kept his voice low, daring to come closer to her. He used the pet name deliberately. She returned his look, watching him close but she didn't move away just yet.

"You know what this does to me, Rupert! You're this memory in my mind of the earliest and only time I've ever felt love and I don't understand how so much joy could be tied into so much pain. I see you now and it's like time hasn't passed."

"Time has passed and I'm only trying to make it right. I'm not trying to change your life."

"But it does! God help me, it does! I thought I was over you but then you answered the door and I laid eyes on you again."

"We were children. We did the best we could manage under very poor circumstances. No one could ask more of us. No one has." He reached out and took her by the forearms, pulling her close, almost eye to eye. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

"You're a memory to me, a ghost. We weren't even together long enough to know if we loved each other."

"I loved you. Of that I'm absolutely certain. I loved you for years wondering how and where you were."

"But you never tried to find me!" She burst out, wrenching herself from his grasp. He let her go.

"I wrote you. I wrote every address I had for you. I tried phoning God knows how many times and I never received an answer! I did it for close to five years until I gave up. The letters to your home always came back and the ones care of your aunt's house were rejected. Travers never told me what became of you or where you'd been sent."

"Five years?"

"Yes. More or less constantly for five years; through my time in the Watcher's Academy until I started to become an established Watcher, I wrote and phoned until I had no other avenues to try."

Now she really looked pained and sank into a nearby chair, not her own but he didn't think that mattered much at the moment. He wanted to reach out for her again, to pull her close realizing she'd never been told of any of his tries to contact her. No wonder she was so hurt by all this! She thought he'd given up on her the day the Council sent her away and pronounced judgment that they couldn't see each other again. It wasn't his choice but he hadn't found his backbone yet. He convinced himself that it was for the best. He hadn't allowed any other thought. Now he was realizing just what that cost them both.

"Lilla…" But she interrupted him.

"What am I supposed to do, Rupert? Fall in love with you all over again and pretend I wasn't alone to raise our boys? They look so much like you it was a constant reminder. I can barely be in the same room as you now without the entire torrent of emotions crashing over me."

She was pleading with him to provide some alternative she could cling to.

"Wait!" This was too much even for him. Was that a viable option? To fall back in love with him? "No one said you have to fall in love with me."

She looked down and he knew she was aware and still chose her words anyway. It made him hesitate. He didn't know how he felt about her now. There was some part of him that would always love her. She'd been the first for him and that was important. She'd been the foothold into the normal world he had when he was trying to muddle through his transition from Ripper to Rupert. At some point, however, he was pragmatic enough to realize you simply can't go home again no matter how much you may want to sometimes. For her, evidently, this was an issue of conflict. It was a fear of hers to be so vulnerable with him again and he grieved to put that fear in her heart. He knew he couldn't have done better but still, it wounded.

"Liliana, I don't know what you're expecting but I want you to know I don't expect anything of you. Or the boys. If they meet me and they want to try to have a relationship with me then I'll be there. If they don't…if too much time has passed then it will be their decision."

She lifted her eyes and stared at him. "Why do you have to be so bloody nice about all of this? It would be a damn sight easier to hate you, you know."

"I realize." He chuckled amiably and she eventually joined in on the laughter and it succeeded in breaking the tension. He sat back down in the midst of his laughter and studied her profile caught in merriment. He wasn't the sentimental sort but he wished he had a camera to capture the moment and the expression on her face. He doubted she'd seen a lot of moments like these in those hard years but God, he loved her smile!

"When shall we?" he offered when the laughter died down, hesitating so she had the lead again. He thought he'd unnerve her less if he left things up to her.

"Roland plays guitar, Rupert. He developed a taste for music in his early teens. Though Alistair despises the music his band plays he always goes to the shows. Maybe you could meet them there, unobtrusively?"

He couldn't have planned it better himself. He was still somewhat of a musician if his hands still remembered the chords. Music seemed the perfect segue into their lives. "Brilliant!" he murmured. Liliana looked please.

"It's a little pub down across Piccadilly called the Stomping Grounds. Usually only a few people show up. I've even been myself once or twice when I was fully stocked up on aspirin. It's all noise to me anymore."

Rupert chuckled again. He felt the same way about things Buffy considered music. Of course, it was the same attitude his father had taken toward Pink Floyd and Led Zepplin. At the time he'd thought this opinion of his father's was quite dull and dismissed it outright. By the time he moved on to the aggressive punk of the Ramones and the Clash he'd gone from thinking the sun rose for his father and set when the man decreed to deciding quite adamantly that the man knew nothing of the modern world. By then he considered his father over the hill and antiquated. With no small amount of chagrin he realized very soon his sons may develop this same idea in his regard. Everything full circle.

"That's brilliant, Lilla. I'm sure we'll get along just fine."

He smiled at the woman sitting across from him and before he thought about it he reached across the coffee table to take her hand. He was beginning to feel hopeful that they might get through this in one piece without too much disruption. Who said time has to be a deterrent? What was the old adage about hearts growing fonder? Right. Absence. Well, Rupert could certainly call their time apart an absence and he was certainly fond of the woman he was staring at currently. His thumb shifted back and forth across the smooth skin of the back of her hand and surprisingly she didn't pull away. She looked back at him, looking for something she thought should still be there somewhere. He was all but a stranger to her but the familiarity of him even after all this time threw her. She couldn't understand it.

He stood, bringing her hand up with him and walked around the coffee table to stand by the side of her chair. For a moment she was confused but gazed up at him tolerantly. Perhaps their time had come to a close. The man in front of her muttered the words "forgive me" and before she could ask what he meant he'd pulled her up and she found herself in his arms kissing him. His lips burned pressed heatedly against hers, the simple chemistry between them sparking to life as it had the first time they came together. His hands traveled to the small of her back, pulling her close, and she melted against him. In all of the time she'd imagined this exact moment nothing came close to the intimacy and passion she felt bursting to bloom inside of her heart.

He had to know. It was one thing to think about her and all of the subtle intoxicating ways she was herself and wonderful. It was another to know the red blooded chemistry that made him fall head over heels in love with a woman he'd known less than three months was still there and still so palpable he could touch it or cut it with a knife. For a few precious seconds he considered not surrendering to the logic that eventually he'd have to pull away from her. She was and always would be his first love and the woman still capable of making him go weak in the knees on sight.

"Rupert." she panted, finally pulling her lips away from his and he found the separation nearly painful. She kept them close, however, so that was a blessing. Both of them were breathing hard, lost in a kiss they weren't aware had traveled so deep. Apparently their unresolved feelings and the abrupt end of their affair had left them with more than enough fuel to spark this lingering passion they held into a bonfire. They weren't the same people but being in this position together felt entirely too familiar. Time wasn't a factor. His blood was still pounding in his ears and his eyesight was swimming with visions of her the last time they made love. He head thrown back in ecstasy and her milky skin stripped and waiting to be devoured with his eyes and lips, memorized with his hands.

"Good Lord." He murmured, pressing his lips to her shoulder. "You still make me melt, Lilla. Even after all this time I still want you just the same as I used to when you get close to me."

Her eyes widened and he knew she felt the same way but his words made her pull away from his embrace. "I'm not ready for this, Rupert. You don't know what your kiss does to me."

"Yes." He disagreed lightly, drawing his thumb over her cheek. "I bloody well do."

"Then you know I can't, Rupert. Twenty five years apart isn't time you can make disappear. We're not the same. I'm not the same. This just feels too good to be true and the last time I felt this way I ended up alone wondering if you were alright while I raised our children."

"That won't happen again." He assured her, but he was polite enough to keep his distance. "I don't want to leave you or our boys ever again. We didn't have a choice before. We have one now."

"I can't. I can't risk my heart again like this, Rupert. Please don't ask me to." Because if he asked, she wasn't sure she could deny him anything. "Meet the boys. They need a father. Talk to them. Maybe your presence can help them make sense of what they want from life and what's expected of them as men. I can't do those things."

"Lilla…"

"Please." She begged. His heart broke and he relented.

"I'll be at Roland's concert tomorrow. Thank you. For everything you've done. Thank you."

She smiled and shook her head to indicate that she hadn't done a thing. She was accepting him into her life again, whether she admitted it or not. If the boys did want a relationship with him he'd always be there by proxy, in their lives as much as he could be. He had no intention of being separated from them again if they wanted him around. She may not realize yet the full implication of that yet.

"I should go, Rupert. I have things to do and I'm sure you do as well."

In point of fact, he didn't. He could have taken time to write more surviving members of the Council or try to phone them but it wasn't something he had to do right this second. Still, to put her at ease he nodded. "Yes. Of course. Plenty to do." He saw her to the door and when she was gone he leaned against it, his heart and loins still throbbing with something between joy and pain. He had something to look forward to, though, and the excitement of meeting his sons was almost overwhelming. Rupert was a man of patience born of practice so he simply steeled himself for the wait and moved further into his flat.


	6. For the First Time

Chapter 5:

Pub was here misleading. Rupert was glad he dressed down for the occasion, opting for faded jeans and a tee-shirt. His leather jacket was in his flat somewhere but he thought that might be a bit of overkill. He didn't want to look like he was trying too hard. That's exactly what he was doing, planning carefully to not appear out of place, but he didn't want it to look that way from the outside. He even wore a pair of jeans that weren't creased up the legs from a long time being folded over a hangar.

The Stomping Grounds was not a pub. At least, not in the sense of what he knew of the traditional English pub. Yes, drinks were served but it was not a bar foremost and certainly not the "little pub" Liliana brushed it off as being. He had a hard time imagining her in a place like this. He'd seen enough thrasher clubs in his youth to know when he was standing in front of one and, ladies and gentlemen, he was standing before one now - music blasting and audible from the outside while smoke poured out every time the door opened. The band hadn't started yet but they were on stage setting up their instruments. It was a small crowd as Liliana predicted but loyal fans. He looked through the glass before going in, taking stock of the situation. People were milling about, talking and drinking, small tables with stools scattered around the interior. There were cigarettes everywhere, lit and smoking and he didn't need to be inside to know it would be hard for him to breathe. Scotch would help him ignore his rasping lungs. That was the blessing he took with him as he pushed the wooden door open and stepped inside.

The sound of music and the quieter din of talk and laughter bombarded him at once. He was amazed at just how much he hadn't heard outside. The warning was not enough to prepare him for the blast of life he encountered once he was inside the club. It had been a long time since he'd stepped foot in this kind of a scene, been a part of youth and exuberance in public. Being in the Bronze used to irritate him quite a bit, assailing his ears with more noise than music. Now here he was for the sake of his sons. Roddy was easy to pick out on stage, guitar in hand talking to the others in his crew and laughing. He tried not to start while he got the first good look at his son. His hair was a darker shade than his own, a testament to Lilla's chocolate locks. He couldn't make out the eyes but the face was unmistakably his own. Rupert could trace the features of himself in the boy woven pleasingly with all the best of his mother. He was in love immediately, his heart aching that he hadn't been there to see him born and hold his hand as he grew from a boy to a man.

He turned to the bar an ordered a shot, his voice gruff with emotion. It was out of place and earned him a skeptical look but he shook his head and threw back the shot with an easy grace and apparently earned some respect with the practiced gesture. He put the glass back onto the counter and turned to look for Alistair. His eyes scanned the smoky room from one side to the other and it didn't take long for them to settle on the form of his other son.

Alistair was everything Roland was not. Everything his mother was, Rupert imagined. He carried himself well, back ramrod straight, even here in this club. He wore a casual polo and slacks and looked horribly out of place, not to mention the exact antithesis of his brother. Roddy was wearing. His eyeglasses were becoming on him. He looked more scholarly than Roddy's rebel without a cause. Then the band's lead singer took the microphone and cleared his throat. Giles eyes were immediately drawn to the stage. The boy looked over the crowd and strummed a few notes on his guitar.

"Thanks for coming out. We're Pure Poison."

With that they launched into a thrashing punk song before Rupert could blink. He turned back to the bar and ordered another drink with his head bowed. He closed his eyes and carefully picked apart the melody and the harmony and found the line of Roddy's guitar underneath the main. He was looking for it, listening to each note plucked against the pounding drums and beneath the lead singer's raspy lyrics. His son's hand was good, well practiced. He could follow the strong notes up and down in succession while he sipped at his scotch on the rocks. If he concentrated on it like this, broken down, he actually could view it as music. Too bad the lead singer was a bit flat and the drum line sounded like a child beating at the pots and pans with a wooden spoon. At least the bass was good as well, strong.

Of course the song was about anger and rebellion. What punk song was not?

He eventually turned back to the stage and watched Roddy's presence on it. He stood behind the lead singer and off to stage left by the drummer. Even in a band his son seemed shy, preferring to play without recognition. He certainly didn't do anything to draw attention to himself. And there was a strange look on his face as if he couldn't think of anything else but the music. The expression on his face was a cross between concentration and bliss. Alistair had his eyes glued and though this didn't look like the kind of music he enjoyed Rupert could see the pride on the young man's face. The young man who caught him looking in his direction. He didn't know why but Rupert turned away and picked up his glass of scotch, taking a swig from it.

When he turned around Alistair's eyes were back in the stage glued to his brother. The set took an hour, all of the songs sounding much like the last one. People danced in front of the stage, throwing themselves against one another in random moshing. One guy was pushed to the ground and slid a few inches before he shook himself off and got back up. The Watcher would never understand it, couldn't. He'd been involved in rough things but never anything as meaninglessly destructive as mosh pit dancing. When, at last, the music fell silent Rupert breathed a sigh of relief. He stood from his stool at the bar and finished off his second drink. The first hadn't dimmed the headache. The second had. He was feeling rather optimistic. He was turning into such a lightweight now.

He straightened his tee shirt and made his way toward the stage, determined to introduce himself to Roddy, first as a fan and then later as a father. Before he could get there he felt a hand on his elbow and turned to find Alistair looking seriously back at him. It was like looking at a mirror twenty five years ago. Alistair paused a moment and yanked his father behind a pole and out of view of the stage.

"I wouldn't go up there if I were you."

The young man looked at him appraisingly, dragging the confused Watcher out the front door of the pub and a small distance away, out of view of the windows.

"I know who you are." he began. "And I know why you're here."

"Do you?"

"It's not hard to figure out. Between your looks and how loopy mum's been acting since you rang, it wasn't hard to put the pieces together. You're my father."

"I am." Rupert shifted, unsure of how to feel. Alistair's tone wasn't exactly friendly and it wasn't really unfriendly. He was very matter of fact, as if stating items on a list and not revealing this secret twenty five years in the making. "You're Alistair. Your brother Roland was on stage."

"I s'pose Mum told you we'd be here, did she?"

The Watcher nodded and smiled. "And told me to bring some aspirin. She thought it would be an unobtrusive way to meet you two on your terms." Then he paused. "Why didn't you want me to go speak to Roland after his show? Why have you been hiding me from him?"

He thought perhaps it was some small gesture of possession. Alistair obviously knew who he was and the Watcher suspected that maybe he simply wanted to be with his father first, to feel him out on his own without his twin around to serve as a distraction for one or the other. Or maybe Alistair wanted to protect his brother from a possibly destructive new force coming into his life. Perhaps it was an innate instinct to protect him.

"He's with his mates."

"And?" The older man was confused, his son's answer not conducive to what he was expecting.

"It'll go worse for you if you meet him with his mates. You've been absent our entire lives and if you come in now, no matter your intentions, Roland will attack. I know him. I've seen how much hurt not having a father caused him. If his friends even caught a whiff of who you are they'd pounce, too. As it is Roland would simply attack because he wouldn't know how to react and he'd want to show off for his friends. Since he fell in with that crowd he's wanted to prove just how tough he is no matter how much of a prat he has to be to do it."

"And I suppose you sank into your studies instead to avoid the questions you couldn't answer?"

His words didn't hold any judgment. Avoidance was a perfectly normal way to deal with issues that have no real answers. He'd done it himself with his own destiny and in one way or another his sons were echoing his life. Alistair, in return, only looked at him and gave his response.

"A man's got to make something of himself."

If the statement was a dagger it was intended to go straight through the heart. Rupert didn't mistake that in his son's tone or wording. The word 'man' was emphasized for effect, as if Rupert were not considered one in the boy's eyes. He gulped, knowing from the beginning that this wasn't going to be easy and that there would have to be resentment from them both to overcome. There wasn't anything he could do but take it and hope that it abated when they got to know him and understood why he was never there for them. It hadn't been by choice, not really. The liquor was helping to this effect, anyway, making the world shine a little as he stood there.

"What is it you want to be?" he asked mildly, trying to keep the talk light.

"I want to be a Watcher."

That truly took the father by surprise. He shivered in a breeze or maybe just a random chill. "Following in my footsteps?"

"No!" his son turned, pacing a few steps away. "I didn't know you were a Watcher. Not until tonight when I placed you as the man who telephoned mum about the Council."

"It's a family trade, Alistair. Your grandfather and great grandmother were Watchers. Your entire family has taken up the calling. You made the choice to be this on your own. I was told it was my destiny when I was ten years old, frightened of the man I'd become."

"I have a granddad and a grandmother?"

Of course! Rupert should have remembered; Lilla's parents were dead. She was raised by an aunt. Her mother died on assignment for the Council and her father in a traffic accident before she was born. The boys had no living grandparents now.

"No. I mean, you do, obviously, but my parents died. My father was in the Council building when it exploded and my mother followed him only a few weeks later. They're buried in Bath, in our cottage outside of the city. If you like I can take you there sometime. Its beautiful country and we have magnificent horses. I'm due for a visit myself."

"Oh." he looked disappointed. "You're loaded aren't you?"

"My family comes from wealth but I rarely think about it. I maintain my flat in London with my pay from the Council. The cottage in the country is cleaned twice a year and rarely used." He looked around. People were starting to come out of the club and Alistair began to notice they weren't alone anymore in their discussion. As if expecting Roland to appear he glanced at the door. He looked in the windows and saw the band packing up, close to being finished.

"Do you want to continue this somewhere else?" His father did, very much, and nodded. "Alright then. There's a diner up the street. I usually go there after Roddy's shows. We can have a cup of tea?"

"Sure." The Watcher wasn't in a position to turn down any offer of prolonged contact with him. He noticed Alistair changed and called his brother Roddy after being careful to call him Roland beforehand. As they started to walk he gave a sideways glance at his son. "Do you call him Roddy or Roland usually?"

"I grew up calling him Rolly but he hates the name now. When I want to annoy him I'll call him Roland to his face. I think of him as Roland. But when I want to avoid a fight I give in and call him Roddy like he asks."

"Has he gotten into anything...dangerous?"

It was a veiled question to see if Roland truly was living up to his father's example for young adult life. There were so many ways his boys seemed to be echoing his life and his interests. Rupert wasn't so foolish as to think that their mother wasn't an influence, indeed the major one, but it was funny how things come round even when you don't know they will. They were approaching the diner and Alistair stopped and looked at his father.

"No. His mates may not be the best people in the world but he's not into anything dangerous – drugs or crime."

That wasn't what he'd meant but he'd take it. If Roland was into dark magic it would be hard to hide from those closest to him. His brother sounded so sincere on Roddy's behalf that it was hard not to believe him. Rupert pushed the door open to the diner and held it for his companion to step inside first. They took a booth in the corner and Rupert only ordered coffee. Alistair ordered a hamburger with extra tomato – certainly his mother's son. She ordered her sandwiches the same way. The waitress walked away and Rupert rose the coffee cup to his lips. He only drank the stuff on occasion, much more in America then he did here.

"We never even had a stepfather." Alistair said softly. "She won't tell us what happened. I want to know what happened, why you weren't there for us."

"I think I should wait for both of you to be together before I tell that story." he replied gently, not wanting to relive it twice.

The chimes on the door rang and he didn't think much of it but Alistair stood up. His other son appeared a few minutes later. Alistair groaned. "You're late." Rupert lifted his eyes and saw his other son standing there looking annoyed. He looked down at the interloper and scowled. He was rather good at scowling.

"Who's this, then?"

"Just sit down Roddy. I'll explain."

The twin obediently slid into the booth opposite his father. He continued to stare, perhaps recognizing what Alistair had. The same features of his own face echoed in this stranger. Alistair sat down after him, locking him into the booth with his body. That was for the best, anyway. Roland wasn't known for an even temper.

"Roddy and I meet here after every one of his shows. You could call it tradition. Mum comes, too, when she actually makes it all the way through the set. You can guess how often that's happened."

Rupert nodded reasonably and Roddy narrowed his eyes. "Who is this guy? Why are you explaining everything to him?" His twin now sounded suspicious on top of his already surly attitude. Alistair gestured toward his father.

"This is Rupert Giles."

"You're the geezer that rang for Mum a few days ago. What are you doing here?"

His older son gave him a look as if to say that he wasn't providing any more information. Whatever would be said would have to be of his own choosing now. He cleared his throat. Having Alistair approach him was a lot easier than facing down having to break the news to Roland. "I came to see your show. I don't know if your Mum ever told you but I love music. I play the guitar myself sometimes."

A blank expression and all Rupert heard were the generic sounds of the diner in the background. He could imagine crickets chirping. His son didn't look impressed. "So? Why would Mum care to tell us anything about you?"

"I'm your father, Roland."

"You're joking!" the words practically dripped with disdain as he looked the man over with new eyes, eager to find the chinks in his armor and the criticisms he could find. He looked to his brother. "You knew about this?"

"No. Not until tonight."

"And you trust him at his word?"

"It's hard to miss him, Roddy. He looks just like us. Not to mention how through the loop mum's been acting since he rang. I don't doubt it's him."

That seemed to clench it in the younger's mind, finally accepting a face that looked like his and eyes that sparkled jade like his own. He scowled and Rupert gathered that was a standard look for his son. Roland slammed a fist onto the table, fleshy side down to muffle the thump of it against Formica. Other patrons looked in their direction, a few shaking their heads and muttering about the people without class, Roddy in his leather jacket and Rupert in his faded jeans and plain shirt. Only Alistair looked civilized at their table. What else could they expect from hooligans?

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, "Go piss up a rope! We don't need you here! We did just fine without you!"

"Roland, please." Giles inserted gently, trying his best to understand his son's rage. He could see where it stemmed from, the sudden burst of chaos after years of being in the dark. He couldn't imagine he was on much of a pedestal in person. As he said himself, he was only a human and was subject to faults found within them all. He didn't want to be more than a supportive father, possibly a friend. He was determined for that, anyway. The boys would decide on their own what his place in their life would be. He'd have to follow their opinions. "Believe me when I say that I wanted to be there for you."

This time Alistair stepped in, making a small gesture with his hand. "I'm sorry, father, but why would we believe you when you were never there? It seems to me that if you wanted to be you would have found a way. Can you tell us what happened between the two of you? Mum never told us. She only says how you two met."

"Ah, yes, our courtship was brief...but I loved her." He smiled at the memory of her brand new and on his bed, smiling up at him in the moonlight. She was so radiant with the silvery streaks in her brown hair and they were so comfortable together. It was as if she was an extension of his own body. "The ending was complicated and we really weren't prepared for it."

"You said you'd tell me," the older twin reminded gently. "I want to know."

"Very well. Your mother got pregnant nearly immediately, I suppose. We'd only been together two months or so when I found out about it. I wasn't in a position to raise children. I was barely a child myself, freshly out of my own rebellion of chaos and dark magic, anything for that next high." Best to have out with it and the truth. If he lied to them now and they found out he would lose them and with it all hope at a relationship. "My and my gang practiced dark magic and for a long while I was into petty crimes and finding the next warm bed. When I met your mum I'd only just rejoined the Watcher's Council with plans to go back to the Academy and go back to attending at Oxford. When she conceived you two that changed."

He paused, closing his eyes, seeing Travers on his high horse in front of the panel of Elders condemning him once again for breaking the rules. The man never did like him after that and now he was dead, rest his soul. He took a sip of his coffee to hide the memories in a swig of bitter liquid before he continued.

"The Council had a rule that pregnant women or women with small children cannot be active Watchers. Due to Lilla's age..."

"Lilla?" That was Roddy.

"My nickname for you mum. Doesn't anyone else use it?"

"No." A pointed reply. The younger twin was still suspicious of him, and hostile about it.

"Anyway, since she hadn't joined the Academy officially yet they took me to trial for taking advantage and told us to decide what we wanted to do. Her mother was a Watcher, killed while on duty and it's always been her dream to be a Watcher. I come from a long line of them myself and was never given a choice about what I was going to become. My father explained this to me when I was very young. You might say I never developed a taste for it and it triggered my rebellion. At the time, though, my friend had just died from our foolishness thinking we could control evil and I needed to take my place in the Council. But we couldn't both fulfill those ideas. It had to be one or the other. Or neither, which we never considered. In the end your mum let me go on to uphold my family legacy, a legacy you'll continue Alistair, and they paid her for it...to cut me loose. The condition was that I could not see her or contact her again."

"Why didn't you choose to be with her?"

"I was young, stupid. I was caught up in the world of supposed to instead of listening to what I wanted to do. I wrote your mum for years while I was in the Academy. I phoned and wrote everywhere I could think of to find her, to see how you both were. I never even knew she was pregnant with twins until she told me a few days ago. She never got my letters and never returned my phone calls. After five years I gave up, assuming she wanted nothing to do with me. I had no other options to try short of storming the Council myself and demanding her address after resigning."

He fell silent a moment, both of his sons staring across the table at him. In their eyes he saw a thousand questions and the unmistakable horror of finally comprehending a story too painful for their mother to relive. He also saw the sting of betrayal in their eyes for a father that chose the legacy of the past over the future family he could have had. He didn't regret the decision most nights. Indeed, after a while he convinced himself that Liliana chose not to contact him and carried on with his life. Eventually that life was in Sunnydale with Buffy.

"It wasn't all bad. I got to live on the Hellmouth with the Slayer. It was terrifying and, well, extraordinary. Buffy is remarkable." He paused, watching Roddy perk up at the mention of a real life Slayer. "Still, sometimes I'd dream of a life with you two and your mother somewhere here in England and wonder how you were. I never tried to phone again, thinking it was too late for this. After I heard about the fate of the Council building I tried desperately to locate all of you but the records were destroyed in the blast. I'd never have known she was alive at all if she wasn't involved in the Council's finances."

He finally fell silent, bringing them to present day with his short but passionate explanation. For a while crickets chirped and no one moved, digesting his story. No one spoke but Alistair shifted uncomfortably in his seat while his brother continued to stare daggers at their father. The mention of a Slayer was not enough to get him to drop his attitude. They both knew what a Slayer was, of course, growing up with their mum and the Council's involvement with their lives. It was his older son that spoke first, this time with a hereto unheard ice in his tone.

"You created a new family. You didn't need us."

He didn't know how to deal with that statement. It was true, he had formed a new family but that was because he'd been woefully without the other for some years. He'd even fallen in love again, nearly. If Jenny hadn't been killed by a monster wearing an angel's skin he might have gotten married, had more children of his own blood. But he wouldn't be the same man as the one sitting there now. He wouldn't have the same thoughts or feelings and who knows? His distraction with love and another family might have gotten him killed. Or Buffy killed. Maybe the Council was right leaving their active Watchers unattached.

"I developed another family, yes. Buffy, Xander, Willow, Dawn: they were all my children. They depended on me. But you don't know how often I dreamed of a white picket fence with your mum and you…before I knew she had twins. I never dared dream of that."

"We depended on you!" Roddy burst out suddenly, slamming his hands down on the table. He'd have stood if he could have. Alistair touched his arm lightly, looking as alarmed by the outburst as the other diner patrons. He shushed his younger brother, encouraging him to sit down again. He added softly once Roland complied. "You don't know how hard mum's become over this. It's like her heart froze with you. She never entertained any other ideas."

"Were there others?"

His older son nodded. "Many. Most didn't seem to mind she was a mother but she never gave them the time of day."

"I hurt her terribly." Rupert agreed. "And you boys." He paused. "No longer boys now but men."

Their food came at last and the older turned the plate so that the fries faced the younger, a well practiced gesture. Rupert had no doubt this was tradition also. His cup of coffee was refilled but he'd had enough of the brew to last him a while. He'd be staying up a long time tonight anyway to need more caffeine. Roddy stared down his father.

"Do you expect us to ever forgive you?" At least he didn't believe in preamble or sugar coating. Still, he was taken aback by the bluntness of the question.

"I'd like it if you would." He answered, but knew that wasn't actually an answer to the question asked. "Yes, I do. I should like to think you understand that I'm human and you're old enough to know that I cannot change what was done. The important thing is that I'm here for you now and plan on being in your life as much as you will let me be."

Of the two children he wasn't expecting Alistair to break first. When his older boy stood, throwing money down onto the table, Rupert was stunned speechless for a moment. The boy looked genuinely sorry. "I can't do this anymore tonight. I'm not sure what you expect from us."

"Nothing. Not instant forgiveness. Nothing I'm not willing to work for."

"I can't."

His calm Alistair, the one who approached him, was leaving. It was with a pang Rupert realized he was coming to definitively think of the boys as his. He'd only been in their lives for a few hours but he was already so deeply in love with his children he'd walk through fire to keep them from harm. It was nothing he wouldn't do for Buffy or any of the others. It was amazing the wealth of parental instinct that took over. Just now it was warning him not to push either of them lest he push them away. He stood as well, pushing his coffee cup aside. He picked up the few quid Alistair dropped on the table and handed it back to him.

"Please. Let me."

It was Roddy that answered for his brother, taking the money and stuffing it into his pocket. Now that his older brother's resolve had crumbled his own will seemed to weaken. Later Rupert would turn this over in his head, figuring out just how many cues the younger brother took from the older and Alistair seemed to know this and effortlessly slid into the part of role model. Right now there wasn't time to pick apart the intricacies of brotherhood or their complex relationship as identical twins. He only saw them leaving and a panic set into his chest that was hard to shake.

"Your mother has my address, phone number. Do stop in even if it's for a chat and a cup of tea."

Neither of the boys spoke as they slid from the booth and headed toward the front door. Giles didn't have to wonder whether this went well or not. He'd replay it over in his head that night as he lay in bed, wondering if their were words he could have changed and things he could have done differently. He had to let it be their choice. How unfair it was for Alistair to grow up taking up the mantle of older brother and father figure to Roland! His thoughts plagued him until he slept at last. He made contact which was all he promised Lilla he'd do. Whatever happened next would be up to them.


	7. Lost In Memories

Chapter 6:

Rupert wasn't expecting visitors when he woke the next day. The front doorbell rang at seven am, just three short hours after he managed to finally fall asleep from the night before. He stumbled from his bed, bleary eyed, not sure who to expect. He wasn't even sure he heard the doorbell at all when he woke until it chimed a second time. He belted his robe around his body and went to answer. There he found a distressed Liliana who immediately looked up at him and came in without an invitation. She seemed to be good at that, or, at least, she seemed to make it a habit.

"What happened with Alistair and Roland?"

"It's seven in the morning, Lilla. I'm not dressed."

"I'll wait."

Obviously she did not take hints, subtle or otherwise. With a resigned sigh he disappeared into the back and emerged again a little while later dressed and ready for a day he was not awake enough for. He made some tea and brought it into the living room, adding crumpets for good measure to the tray. She was waiting in the living room but he found her in a surprising place, at his bookcase. She had a book flipped open but it wasn't the text she was reading. It was the photograph inside that had her attention. It was the only photograph of them together that existed.

Without looking closer he knew it was the first edition copy of Alice in Wonderland she held. They used to amuse themselves by reading it to each other when they were alone. Indeed, she'd given him no end of grief when she discovered it among his collection. She thought it was too girly for a man to own and enjoyed seeing him blush. She didn't mean her teasing maliciously and didn't think less of him for owning it. It was one of the things they had in common, enjoying the story. He owned it because it was a first edition copy of the novel but more than that it had been a gift from his mother. Before it was Camelot and the legends of King Arthur it was this as a child. After a time it was one of their favorite things to relax into, reading to each other into the wee hours of the morning. They eventually graduated from Alice in Wonderland to the Canterbury Tales or epic poetry like the Odyssey.

He loved listening to her sweet voice reciting the couplets of the Iliad while he dreamed on the couch with his head in her lap or with her body curled in his arms. Whenever she tired she'd hand the book to him and he'd continue on where she left off. Those moments were more precious to him than oxygen and more intimate than sex. Making love to her had been an extension of being, as natural to him as breathing. When he saw her there and realized what she was staring at his breath hitched in his throat. He hadn't looked at the photograph himself in years. He used to look at it constantly in the beginning, the novel being the only book he hauled with him from place to place. Little by little he'd looked at it less and less until he finally decided not to pursue her anymore. That day he packed it away and forgot about it. Now it was here again and she'd found it without really looking.

There were tears in her eyes and she knew he'd come into the room but her gaze didn't lift from the picture.

"You kept it."

"Of course I did. I haven't looked at it in a long time. Like the book I simply locked it away. The memory of it was too painful to remember."

"I remember this day. You look so young!" She laughed, but it came out more as a choked sob. "We'd only known each other, what was it? Two weeks? Three? You invited me out to the cottage while we still had free time. Second day you had me out there we rode out into the field. You rode Kalderash and I rode Emmeline. We had that picnic in the woods, next to the pond. When we came back you had someone take this picture of us."

A lump was in his throat while he listened, remembering all too well the day she described. He'd rarely in his life been as happy as he was that day with her as they spent time together carefree and light. That was the night he'd first made love to her, taking her into his bedroom without a second thought when their time was supposed to come to an end. At the time all he kept thinking was that he didn't want the night to end. He wanted it to last forever. It did. He took his time, drawing out every pleasure they could share together. For the rest of that week he'd been in heaven, blissfully unaware of the passage of time until it came time to go back to London. Then reality came crashing in unexpectedly. He wasn't any less happy with her but somehow that week in the country seemed like a retreat for them. One he never forgot.

When he spoke again his voice was coated with emotion. "Kalderash and Emmeline have gone, though, they sired a mare – Liliana. I didn't know what else to call her."

Finally her large eyes shifted in his direction. They took in the sight of him holding the tray of tea and crumpets, which he'd forgotten he was holding, and she didn't know what to do. Half of her wanted to laugh for the good times and cry for the pain. She closed the book gingerly and put it back on the shelf.

"I didn't know you'd keep all of these memories of us, Rupert. I wanted so much to think you abandoned us completely. It was easier to believe you never cared at all but that's not the case, is it?"

"No!" he crossed the room, setting the tray to the side without giving it much thought, and took her into his arms, smoothing her hair. "Of course not. How could I forget you? You were the first woman I ever loved and the mother of my child. Even though you were never in my sight I thought about you. I wished I knew where you were. I packed up the memories when I couldn't bear their pain but I never abandoned you in my heart or mind, not completely, no matter where life took me."

Her lips were on his so fast he didn't realize their position had changed. The moment was so charged it was hard to follow anything more than the emotions. One moment he was calmly stroking her hair thinking to comfort her and the next she was melting against him with her lips meshed against his own. Without thought he recognized her need and responded with a desire he'd been harboring a long time. He picked up her slight body and pressed it against his, devouring her lips and tasting her tears mingling with the sweetness of her kisses.

He scooped his arm under her knees and brought her fully off the ground to curl against him. On instinct he swept her through the house, eyes closed while they kissed and navigating on memory and practice. He could move through his house in the dark with his eyes closed but still he only looked up occasionally to see that she wasn't hurt by their short journey. Her lips traveled over his face and neck, and he groaned in sweet desire. He got her to his room and laid her out on his disheveled bed, still warm from where he lay until just a little while ago. She looked glorious, wanting and beautiful with the lingering traces of her tears still wringing her eyes. She looked honest and vulnerable and...simply stunning. Truly, he was stunned by her and the surge of emotion he felt just looking at her this way.

"Lilla." He breathed her name, kneeling alongside her as he moved onto the bed. His body brushed hers as he moved up toward her waiting lips. He'd only been without them moments but it seemed like an eternity to him. He braced himself on one arm, kissing her again. The other hand knew exactly where to go, traveling over her side and back up again, warming her body to his touches. She didn't seem to have any objections as she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him again. Everything felt so good. He felt so gloriously alive with her in a way he hadn't felt since Jenny.

Rupert Giles had turned into a man who could do the things expected of him no matter how unpleasant. He'd become confident in who he was and his ability to be what was needed. But he'd also become jaded, distracted, disconnected from a world he'd helped to change. He knew the large part of that was his own choice, always submitting to duty in the end instead of doing what he wanted to do. Right now he couldn't think of anything he wanted to do more than taste every inch of her silken flesh.

Not even sleeping held any allure for him now. It was just her moans he wanted, the small sounds of pleasure she was making and the perfect way she seemed to know exactly how to move to heighten the sensation of his touches. He kissed down her neck and then onto her chest, placing kisses along her body with each button he undid on her blouse. She rolled her shoulders, sliding the garment off of them and then she sat up so he could slide it the rest of the way off her body. She kissed his lips again, taking the opportunity to rid him of his own shirt. She ran her hands down it and paused when they ran into his many scars. He didn't have them when they'd been together before. He felt a little awkward when she pulled away to study them, thinking she was repulsed.

Her hands ran over his skin, trailing the lines of each scar they found. As she did she whispered to him, soothing his nervousness about her reaction to them. "Scars are the evidence of trials endured. You've been through so much without me there. I wish I'd been there to endure it with you."

"Not every scar can be seen with the naked eye." He replied kindly, cupping her cheek with his hand. "I'm sure you carry plenty of your own and are stronger for it. I've been blessed to know so many strong woman, you among their number."

She smiled, the moment past. She pushed him gently down onto his bed, kissing her way along his chest this time. She took no small amount of joy in relearning his body, familiar and foreign all at once. Everything felt as it had before, just as natural to them both. Slowly the rest of their clothes joined the pile on the floor until he was caressing her naked body, running his hands over her skin and humming with anticipation. He was in awe of how it felt to be with her again. Had anything ever felt so natural in his life? So effortless? Surely not...

Liliana slid her hand down his body and grasped the object of her desire already diamond hard and thick, throbbing with the yearing to be one with her again. She moved to slip him inside her folds and he stopped her, giving his head a small shake. "Not yet." He moved her onto her back and kissed his way over her body. "I want to take my time."

There was nothing like the playground that was the expanse of her skin. Her took his time kissing his way along the tender flesh his lips could find. Each movement was set to the symphony of her moans. As he kissed lower on her body her hands threaded into his hair. He took that as encouragement, parting her thighs to taste the sweet jewel nestled there. Nothing compared to the shaky gasp she gave or the deeply pleasured moan that followed. His tongue snaked in and began lapping at the small delicate bundle of nerves. Her nectar was still sweet and he still craved it from the first taste.

She writhed beneath his lips and tongue, moaning loud and long and clutching at the sheets, balling them into her fists as he pleasured her. He eventually dipped a finger into her dewy slit as he feasted which drew an inarticulate sound. Even better as he moved it slowly in and out of her willing body, almost agonized himself when she felt how her body flexed over the invading digit and drew it in. She was dripping wet and more than ready for him. This thought was confirmed when she brought him up and looked into his eyes.

"Go slow, Rupert. I haven't made love in years." By years, of course, she meant nearly ten. She'd had one lover beside him and kept the man for a little while before she felt herself growing skittish and broke things off. He'd been a wonderful man and loved her but she just couldn't bring herself to love him in return and didn't think it was fair to use him for a physical outlet. If she pinpointed the last time she actually made love instead of simply seeking a sexual release it was the last time he was in her arms.

He shook his head. "Neither have I."

She nodded, knowing his time away from sex was considerably less than hers. It wasn't his fault she simply didn't make time for men in her life and she didn't hold it against him. She chose to sink into being a mother rather than trying to find someone to love. She hid behind her children and made them the reason she didn't want to find love. Or maybe she was afraid to find anyone else but Rupert in her heart, afraid that the memory she was clinging to wasn't infallible. It certainly seemed infallible now with him back in her life and back in her bed.

Unaware of her thoughts he kissed over her body again, taking the peak of one of her breasts into his mouth and suckling there while she shivered beneath him. He was positioned between her legs, his quivering member poised at her opening. He could feel the heat radiating from her body and wanted to feel it wrapped around him. His jade eyes flicked up to hers. She nodded, sliding her arms around him to bring his body up to align with hers. He slid inside her, sinking in inch by inch until he was fully sheathed. They both closed their eyes and savored the feel of this union too long in the making. She moaned and shifted her hips up, drawing him deeper into her body and sighed when he was in to the hilt.

"God, Lilla! You're..."

"I know. And you..." she gasped, inner muscles flexing. He still filled her to a T.

"Yes!" It was a hiss of an indrawn breath as he began to move.

He rested his forehead against hers and rocked his hips, sliding slowly in and out of her inviting canal. It was tight and hot and fitted to his body in a way nothing else ever had been. He slid a hand up her thigh and wrapped one leg around his waist, driving deeply into her. His own groans of ecstasy soon joined hers and they mixed in the air. Her hands wandered endlessly, sliding over his skin and sighing in contentment. He kissed her, letting himself remember everything. He remembered the girl he fell in love with and that night at the cottage. He remembered reading in her arms and sleeping together before they ever thought to make love. He remembered how pure and simple it had been. All this he put into the kiss and she seemed to echo it in her own. They took it slow for a long while, rediscovering the joy of making love to each other again.

Eventually, she let the other leg follow the first and hooked it around his waist, using them to drive him into her. Little by little his pace quickened until he was bucking furiously into her slit. She let her legs drop, allowing him the room he needed. The solid sound of skin to skin echoed with their moans.

"God, Rupert!" She was close, desperate.

"I know. I need you, too."

He rolled with her, settling her body against his hips while he stared up at her. It only took a moment for the change of position to register and then she began to move of her own accord, driving him deeply into her wanting body. She moved her hips in quick circles, bringing him almost all the way out of her only to have him slide right back in before either of them could be left wanting too long. He hummed in bliss, letting his hands rest on her hips.

"Guide me." she panted out. "Show me what you want."

Immediately he gripped her hips and all but slammed him down onto her. He impaled her repeatedly on his solid member and she cried out in pleasure. She was nearly unable to move the closer to her climax she got. Her body simply responded to his hands guiding her and she drew in a short breath, closing her eyes. He sensed her close. He had a demand of his own to make, one he knew she liked to hear.

"Come for me, Lilla. I want to feel it again."

She toppled helplessly over the edge with a ragged cry, collapsing on top of him. His lips sought out and found her own as he bucked into her, prolonging her orgasm. He felt her body flooded with the proof of her climax and her muscles milking him furiously. He was almost lost to the moment himself. He rolled her back onto her back, keeping her lips for his own as he thrust into her. He was grunting for pleasure and for all of the energy he was exerting. Her hands found his backside, urging him into her.

"Rupert!" It was a request.

He slowed his pace only a little so the sensations no longer blended together. He savored them again, feeling the beautiful way her body climaxed. Within moments he was lost to it, finding his own ending with an impassioned cry of her name. She accepted it, back arched with a loud moan of her own joined in. Thread after thread of his milky seed spilled into her and he hadn't the cognitive capacity to think or speak as the waves of his euphoria drifted over him. He lay on top of her, half of his body spilling to the side so there was no uncomfortable pressure to be felt. They were both panting, weak and glowing. His eyes stayed closed a long time lost in pleasure more than thought. Neither of them felt like moving. He felt her body trembling in the aftershocks he used to feel so often when they made love. Every time her body contracted in one of those aftershocks he groaned, feeling it echo in his own painfully sensitive phallus. Despite that he didn't not want to be separated from her yet, as if doing so would break this spell they were under.

It was she who moved first, sliding sideways to be able to lay alongside him. She turned on her side, cradling her head in her hand with her hair spilled back in the sunlight. She looked at him face down in the pillows and laughed a little. He chanced cracking an eye open to look at her and caught her grin. He answered with one of his own and finally moved onto his back feeling sated and happy. He studied her in the sunlight, mildly concerned that this was a dream he was living through and any moment he'd wake up alone with an embarrassing erection to deal with.

"Rupert, how did things go with Alistair and Roland?"

Ah, yes, he knew they'd have to get back to that eventually, wouldn't they? Best not to put it off. He explained what happened in detail, divulging his observations of their relationship as well as the barely veiled hostility he felt at the end of the night. Rome wasn't built in a day and neither would this relationship. She nodded her way through it, smiling here and there and pushing her hand through his mane of hair. Roland's reaction didn't surprise her. Neither did Alistair's, to be honest. She explained that when he was finished.

"Alistair often felt like the man of the house because he was the oldest. No matter how hard I tried to keep any sort of pressure or expectation off of him he just seemed to take on the role. He buries so much inside himself. Our youngest is predictable in his anger, quick to take it up and quick to let it go. He yells and kicks and screams and then five minutes later it's as if it never happened. Alistair is harder to read. Sometimes I'll think he's unaffected and then he'll say something out of the blue that makes me pause. I often wonder if he really thinks he's fine or if he's just gotten so good at burying his feelings that he truly convinces himself that it doesn't matter how he feels. I tried to teach him to come to me when he feels this way but I suppose in this we're both the enemy."

"You're never the enemy." Giles whispered, touching her cheek fondly. "They love you."

"I pray you're right, Rupert. I don't think its Roland you have to worry about getting you across the threshold. It's Alistair. Roddy takes his cues from his older brother. If you get in with him you're in with Roland no matter how much he pretends otherwise."

Rupert nodded, understanding. It was nothing more than he suspected himself. Alistair was the deciding factor for his younger brother, taking up the mantle of father figure a little too well. She shrugged and he settled an arm over her body, bringing her in close. He heard her heart beating in her chest, calmly thudding away and the sound soothed him. He'd keep trying. He'd make it clear he loved them and would let them come to him. If it took a year or ten he was determined to be there for them every step of the way. He sighed, thinking of matters more complicated than the pleasure they'd just experienced.

And that was the other crux. What were they doing? Was it some latent itch to scratch from years ago? Was she alright with things? He didn't want to be declared a mistake in her life. He was certain that he had loved her and was certain he'd just made love to her in some profound way he hadn't experienced in a long time. It wasn't clear whether those feelings lingered on or were simply brought up by their moment of true connection. Perhaps making love to Jenny for the first time would have felt as charged as this but he'd never had a chance to find out. Liliana seemed to notice his frown, the clear indicator of his thoughts. She smiled, catching his attention with a touch.

"Do I want to know what you're thinking?"

"Probably not. I'm as analytical as I ever was."

"Ah, yes. I've been on the receiving end of your inner debates before. I think I remember how they go." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "This wasn't a mistake. I don't expect anything from you because of it and you are just as good a lover today as you were twenty five years ago...even better, I'd say, physically speaking. Emotionally? Well...it was hard to match you for that."

"Why do you love me after all this time, Lilla?"

"I didn't..." but he gave her a look to stop her protest. "Because of the person you are, Rupert. Because time has made you strong and when you touch me I still go weak in the knees. Am I not supposed to love you anymore? Am I supposed to pretend that being here with you doesn't awaken some part of my heart that has been dormant for years?"

"I don't think the boys were the only ones clinging to an idea of me, Lilla." Immediately upon saying the words he realized he hadn't meant them in the way they came across. _Oh, bugger!_ He backpedaled. "I didn't..." but too late, the damage was already done. She backed away from him.

"Rupert..." she sounded hurt more than offended.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." He frowned, though, and reconsidered before he continued. "But I wouldn't be the man I am if I didn't say I'm a bit concerned that you're holding onto an expectation of me I'm not quite sure I can live up to."

She opened her mouth to respond but closed it again before any sound could come out. Instead she slipped from the bed and started to gather up her clothes. His expression didn't improve and he sat up, reaching out to take her hand. She stopped what she was doing and smiled at him. He didn't believe she was as alright as her smile indicated but he couldn't very well argue with it, either. It wasn't his place to. She wanted him to believe she was alright.

"I need to go." She told him gently. "I wasn't planning on spending hours here this morning."

He blinked. Hours? Had she said hours? He looked at the clock that read ten twenty five. Where had the time gone to? Had he lost himself completely while they were entwined? He must have and here was the proof of it. He moved out of the bed and dressed again himself, determined to see her out the door. It was an awkward sort of goodbye. He reached to kiss her and she turned her cheek and tried to hug him. She laughed nervously and he said he'd call her soon before letting her move through the door. Once it closed behind her he went back to his bed and lay there a while thinking about this turn of events and eventually he dozed.


End file.
